Anders' Alphabet
by kisssanitygoodbye
Summary: For every letter of the alphabet, a little story about Anders, about the good things and the bad things, hope and despair, the wish for freedom and being caged, and, most importantly, about refusing to give up.
1. A is for Azure

A big Thank You goes to my beta, OhMercyMe.

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**A is for Azure**

He had always wanted to spend some time on a ship but the opportunity had never presented itself. Well, you could count his journey from Amaranthine to Kirkwall, but that had only taken a few days and he hadn't really been in the right state of mind to enjoy it at the time, with images of dead Wardens racing through his mind and haunting his dreams, and a confused spirit inside of him who made it so hard to concentrate on anything except questions he didn't have answers for.

Said spirit is quiet now, probably too shocked by what they both had done in Kirkwall to make his presence known. Anders is still getting used to that kind of freedom. He had almost forgotten how it feels like to play the leading role in your own story.

He doesn't feel good now, no, not that, never that, but better, not quite as lost as he had been a few weeks ago, where Garrett and him had spent the nights facing away from each other, not talking, not even touching save for the few times where they had given in to their needs and Garrett had taken him, with an urgency and desperation they had never felt to this degree before. Afterwards they had just gotten cleaned up and simply gone to sleep without speaking another word.

Not even Varric had known what to say back then. Anders had caught him watching, brow furrowed while polishing Bianca, and often he had expected him to open his mouth any second, to try and lighten the mood with a quick joke or a witty remark, but it had never come. And you knew that things were bad when even the dwarf couldn't bring himself to open his mouth. But Varric had written a lot, and no one had managed to find out what about. Anders can't help but think that this may be for the best.

But now, standing on deck, wind tousling his hair, spray bewetting his face, the sea beneath him, wild and free and untamable, he has found a moment of peace. Looking over the railing, he is amazed at just how many different colours he can make out. He had always thought that the sea would be simply blue, but it's not. There's green, turquoise, even a brownish hue, and of course many shades of blue. The water looks different out here, not like at the Docks in Kirkwall, where it is polluted by all kinds of rubbish the workers just throw in to get rid of it in the easiest possible way. He takes a deep breath and enjoys the salty quality of the air that feels so much cleaner than in Kirkwall.

„There you are. I've been looking for you."

He jumps at Garrett's sudden appearance, even though it shouldn't have surprised him. That's what partners do, isn't it? They check on one another. It seems they have to relearn so many things they had once done with a naturalness only known to couples that have been together for years. It hurts how much they've lost and now have to collect again, piece by piece. They're getting there, but they're nowhere near whole yet.

„Isabela and Fenris are taking care of dinner tonight. I don't know if I should be amused or worried", Garrett says after he joins Anders at the railing, putting his hand so close to his own that they're nearly, but not quite, touching.

„If anyone should be worried about being poisened, it's me." He doesn't really mean it, and Garrett knows that. Fenris has surprised Anders more than any of the others with his loyalty, even though he knows perfectly well that it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with Hawke. Still, he feels… grateful. He hadn't expected him to join them, not really, considering their relationship. And whenever he looks at the elf now he can't help but notice the guilt tying his stomach into a knot, guilt for underestimating him, for doubting his friendship with Hawke. Although, Anders constantly feels guilty, so he's not quite sure if the uneasy feeling is really referable to Fenris' presence.

Hawke and him fall into a surprsingly comfortable silence, looking down at the water breaking against the bow, and after a few minutes Anders can feel Hawke's little finger over his own. He looks up, and Garrett turns his head, giving him a warm smile he can't help but reciprocate, and that's when he notices it.

He had always thought that Garrett's eyes were simply blue, but they're not. There's a little green there, and little yellow specks around the pupil, but what really strikes him is this deep shade of azure, the purest form of blue, endless as the sky and just as beautiful, and familiar in a way that makes his shoulders relax and his heart feel a little lighter.

It may take months, maybe even years, but at that moment Anders knows that someday, they will be alright.


	2. B is for Boots

**B is for Boots**

His boots are the only thing he has left from his time with the Wardens. Well, that's not exactly true, he still has a few shirts that he had also worn back then, but they're just items of clothing, useful, of course, but of no sentimental value to him. Shirts don't have a history, all memories wiped off of them the moment you wash them and watch as every last trace of the places you've been to dissolve in the warm, soapy water. That can be a relief when there had been blood of a loved one on it, or of the people you killed, or even your own, a dark red reminder that nothing is untouchable, especially yourself.

It's different with his boots. He has cleaned them hundreds of times, but still there are tiny stones stuck in the soles, and dried mud smudging the edges, and dust collected over time that may be invisible to the unaided eye, but that you just know is there, thousands of little landmarks on the map that is your life, telling you stories about the muddy fields you've trudged through, about mountains you've climbed, caves you've explored, and about the people who have accompanied you on your adventures.

And the first person he thinks about when he looks at them is his former commander, Joanna Tabris, the elf from Denerim's alienage who had saved a whole nation, maybe even Thedas. But most importantly, she had saved him, in every way a person can be saved. Not only from the Templars, but from aimless wandering, from desperately trying to fit into this world that had no place for him, and from dark, destructive thoughts about how he would never be able to do anything but run, would never be more than the annoying apostate, a thorn in the Knight-Commander's side.

He can still see her when he closes his eyes, her straight back, her head held high and that compassionate sparkle in her determined eyes that you could only see if she wanted you to see it. It had been reserved for him and the other Wardens during their time at the Keep, for the evenings spent in her quarters with beer, wine and unburdened laughter. He had been impressed by her ability to switch from a kind-hearted, caring woman to a righteous, hard Warden within seconds, and he still remembers wondering how a person so small could actually seem so tall.

The boots had been her gift, given to him a few months before she had decided that the time had come for her to move on and go to Antiva to find her beloved assassin, the „knife-eared pipe cleaner" as Oghren had liked to refer to him. She had always just shaken her head and snorted at the dwarf's remarks, but sooner or later everyone had come to realise just how much she missed the mysterious Zevran who no one had ever talked about in earnest.

He hadn't blamed her for leaving, not really, and he still didn't, but he can't help wondering what would have happened had she stayed with him and the Wardens. She would never have tolerated Templars in their midst, she would never have forced him to give up Ser-Pounce-a-lot - after all it had been her who had given him to Anders - and she would have made sure that he would never get to the point where he had felt so alone that a fade spirit became one of the only friends he had left.

But it doesn't matter now. The past is past, and all he has left are the black boots, a little worse for wear now, with a few holes in it and covered in the dust that's been collected over the course of a whole lifetime, at least it feels that way to him. He had worn those boots at a time when he had just been _Anders_, when that name had passed his lips so easily, when he had not been the _abomination_ or the _deeply troubled man_ and all those other things people have called him since he came to Kirkwall.

Maybe there is still a tiny stone stuck in his sole that had also been there when he had defeated the Mother with the others, a silent witness as he told vulgar jokes over a beer at the _Crown and Lion_, or at the moment just after Rylock's death that had been accompanied by the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he could have a chance to be free now, that he'd never have to run again because the people around him all wanted him there and accepted him for what and who he was.

All those hopes had been crushed the moment a Templar set foot into Vigil's Keep for the first time. That tiny – probably imaginary - stone had witnessed that too. It had always been there, followed him every step of the way from the past to the present, and if he is careful with the scrubbing, maybe it will follow him into the future, provided there even is one.

He has been wearing a different coat for some time now, the old one too filthy and torn to provide any kind of protection against the cold, but he knows that, no matter how dirty and holey they get, he will always keep those boots.


End file.
